‘We haven’t tails,’ Kay said.
‘The fact is well-known,’ Arnold said.
‘But about Time: I am rather behindhand in Present Time. Perhaps I am not in Modern Time at all, but in Future Time. It isn’t Past Time. You asked me why I went back into the Past. So many things happened in the Past. In my young days, life in my country was tedious to a man of thought. I made a way to get back into the Past . . . a certain Box . . . You may not credit it, but a man came all the way from Spain to offer me the Elixir of Life in exchange for it. He gave me a sip of the Elixir and I let him see my Box, but I would not make the exchange; for I could get back into the Past by my Box, that is into the Past of Europe. Young Englishman, I do not consider that the Past of Europe is worth consideration.’
‘I don’t know,’ Kay said. ‘A good many things have happened in Europe . . . The Roman Empire, the Spanish Empire, Napoleon the Great, the Battle of Waterloo . . . and the Great War.’
‘The Great War!’ Arnold said. ‘It was to see that that I gave away my first Box and spent years finding a way into the Past of Asia. Tell me, in the Time that you know do they speak much of Alexander the Great?’
‘He is mentioned sometimes,’ Kay said.
‘Imagine it,’ Arnold said. ‘Mentioned sometimes. Is not that typical of European things and people? Rulers and ruled alike – childish, trivial, wanting in will.’
‘You can’t call Julius Cæsar that,’ Kay said.
‘He only imitated Alexander,’ Arnold said. ‘Besides he was bald. I was delighted that he met the end he did. My race, the Italian, has ever been renowned for intelligence. They never showed it more clearly than in ending that public pest. What is your Christian name, young man?’
‘Kay,’ Kay answered.
‘You ought to change it to Alexander,’ Arnold replied. ‘Young men should have prosperous names, names to live up to. Kay isn’t a name, it’s a letter of the alphabet. It is the Greek Kappa. We Italians dispensed with it.’
‘Did you ever meet Alexander?’ Kay asked.
‘Young man,’ Arnold said. ‘I was weary of life in Todi, so I made my Box and wandered into the Past of Europe. Oh, it was so dull . . . dreary kings, dreary murders, silly wars; so I got out of it as soon as I could. I went into the Past of Asia. And d’you know, a lot of that is very dull . . . silly wars, you know, rather dreary kings, not very much thought; and then suddenly, in one of those cities in Asia Minor, I first saw Alexander. You never met Alexander?’
‘No, indeed,’ Kay said, ‘I never did.’
‘You ought to set to work,’ Arnold said, ‘to make yourself a Box like mine that would take you where you would meet with Alexander. As to the Present (not that this is the Present, it seems like the Future), I do not know where he is, but he exists for ever in the Past. He was the finest young man that ever trod this planet: beautiful, like young Apollo. The sculptors and the painters, when they wanted to carve or to paint a god, all turned to him. He was all beauty and strength and wisdom. He had only to ride down the street on that horse of his, that spoke with a man’s voice, and every man would come out with his weapons to follow him to the world’s end. Everybody saw that he was the king. In the camps, the men would hurl the spear, or shoot with the bow, or throw the quoit, or wrestle or run: he could beat the best of them at all these things. And then, too, think of his Army, the Earth Shaking, and his Fleet, the Sea Taming, and his Horses, the Thunder Bearing, and his Trumpets, the Spirit Lifting. Think of his godlike scheme of making the world one kingdom under one worthwhile king instead of all these little dreary kings. But, of course, you know of this as well as I do. You have seen Alexander . . .’
‘No, indeed,’ Kay said, ‘I have not.’
‘Well, it is hard to believe that anybody has not seen Alexander,’ Arnold said, ‘for who knows what Beauty is that has not? His hair is beautiful, young man, he has marvellous eyes, and he has a way of leaping on to his horse’s back or into his chariot. I saw him last driving in a chariot with white horses. He was dressed in leopard skins and had a crown of laurels on his brows, and people flung themselves down, crying that he was a god . . .’ He paused for a moment, thinking of Alexander.
‘I am behind in my Time, if you understand me, young man. I was in the Anno Domini, and then I went back into the Past and the Anno Domini has moved on and I have only partly moved on, or perhaps I have moved on too far, if you understand.’
‘I think I do partly understand,’ Kay said. ‘It was Ramon Lully who came to you from Spain with the Elixir.’
‘I never paid much attention to the man’s name,’ Arnold said. ‘He was a thinker of my time. I do not believe in the thinkers of my time. Now the thinker of Alexander’s time – Alexander’s teacher, Aristotle – he was a real thinker.’
‘Do you know, I have got your Box of Delights at present,’ Kay said. ‘It belongs really to the man who came to you with the Elixir.’
‘It is a trivial toy,’ Arnold said. ‘I ought to have let that Spaniard take it and had his Elixir in exchange, and drunken deep of it; then I could have gone on and on with Alexander over the Chorasmian Wastes and other Wastes.
‘But permit me to offer you these raisins. I dried them myself in the sun. Alexander used raisins in his campaigns. Other soldiers wanted meat, bread, wines, sweetmeats; Alexander only a few raisins and a little water.
‘What was the race that you said that you belonged to, young man?’
‘The English,’ Kay said.
‘Some very small unimportant race,’ Arnold answered. ‘I had a list of all the nations of the world that marched with Alexander; there were no English among them. We were in a great plain covered with tents. One morning he hung out his golden banner, and all those countless nations blew their trumpets and hung out their standards and away we went. It took a week for the army to pass out of the plain, and we went on over mountains and across rivers, and the cities we visited we sacked; but usually the cities opened their gates to us and came out with gold and silver and precious stones.
‘But allow me to offer you this pomegranate.’
Kay ate the pomegranate and a second one which the old man offered. The old man stood up and said:
‘Now, there was one special thing about Alexander that I have not yet told you. When I have told you this you will understand why it was that his soldiers thought that he was a god.
‘We were marching, if you understand, across a burning waste. Whether it was the Chorasmian Waste, or the Acheronian Waste, I cannot now be sure. It may perhaps have been the Gedrosian Waste. Know only that it was a burning pitiless desert of glare and death and dead men’s bones. There were asps in the sand. The glare of that sand made men’s blood so thin that an asp bite killed in three minutes. Men died of asps, thirst, glare and giddiness. The sand stretched, the sky arched, glare below, glare above, and the moon at night in the terrible cold with jackals howling. I made a poem of the sky:
“It arched, it arched,
We marched, we marched,
And parched and parched.”
‘Some men’s tongues shrivelled dry and dropped out with the parching. No water there, no drink: only pebbles and buttons to freshen our mouths with.
‘Now, some of the soldiers found in a rock at dawn a little scoop of cold water. They thought, “Now we will win promotion for ourselves by taking this to Alexander,” so they brought it to him. It was not more than is in this shell here, but in that place, under that sun, it was Life itself, young Master. Did Alexander drink it and give those men promotion? He was as thirsty as any soldier there. “No,” he said, “I will not touch what I cannot share with my men,” and he poured it out in the sand to his Fortune. I tell you once more, that there has been nobody in this world like Alexander.
‘Allow me, now, to recommend to you this egg of the Island Pheasant which I have baked for you. For salt, here is salt of the sea, and for bread this meal of pounded almond. Eat, eat, for the young can enjoy what they eat.’
> Kay ate gladly; for he was indeed hungry.
‘You mentioned, young man,’ Arnold said suddenly, ‘a certain person who had made a figure in the world.’
‘Julius Cæsar?’ Kay said.
‘Do not name that person to me. No, another whose name I didn’t catch. You called him great.’
‘Napoleon?’
‘That was the name,’ the old man said. ‘Who was he?’
‘He was a soldier who conquered nearly all Europe,’ Kay said.
‘Conquered Europe! That miserable collection of barbarians conquered. Could it ever be anything but conquered?’ Arnold said. ‘And you dare to place these petty pugilists of yours beside the godlike figure of Alexander. You talk with parochial insolence. Were you not so ignorant, it would be my duty to strike you dead . . . that you debase thus a godlike and glorious figure, whose achievements cannot be weighed because there is no balance with which to weigh them, nor other with whom to compare him.
‘Presently, young man, I shall perfect yet another Box, much greater than any that I have made yet. I entered the Past of Europe by one Box; I entered the Past of Asia by another; but with this third box I will go after Alexander, where he rides on some planet, in some starry place in heaven. I will harness the comets for him, and we will come down, young man, and we will sweep away all these paltry kings and you English with tails.’
‘We haven’t got tails,’ Kay said.
‘You know nothing even of your own race,’ Arnold said angrily, ‘and you dare to presume to speak about Alexander.’
Kay was, by this time, terrified of Arnold of Todi, this extraordinary figure of fun, whose matted beard was stuck with twigs and leaves, whose coat was of sail, palm leaf and old leather, who seemed to be seven hundred years old and to have gone with Alexander the Great into India. He was now standing with flaming eyes, glaring down at Kay.
‘Mad as a hatter,’ Kay thought. ‘Now he will probably tear me piecemeal.’
At this instant he heard himself called: ‘Kay! Kay!’ There behind him in a little bay of the sea, so bright and beautiful, were two figures whom he saw to be Herne the Hunter and the woman of the oak tree. On their left hands were these curious rings with the longways crosses upon them.
‘Come, Kay,’ they said. ‘We can take you home. You must not be lost in the Past in this way.’
‘Could you take Arnold of Todi too?’ he said. ‘He has been most awfully kind to me.’
‘Yes,’ they said, ‘let him come.’
Kay did not quite see how they were to come, but, when they reached the beach, the two called and out of the sea there came tumbling the most beautiful dolphins, drawing a chariot made of one big sea shell, of the colour of mother-of-pearl.
By the side of these were three bigger dolphins, one, with no saddle, for Herne the Hunter, two, with high-backed saddles of white and scarlet coral, and stirrups and reins of amber beads, for Kay and Arnold.
‘You will mount these, Kay,’ the lady said, as she stepped into her chariot and gathered the long reins of seaweed; ‘then follow me.’
‘Stick on tight,’ Herne said. ‘They’re odd mounts at first.’
The woman had already set off in her chariot. Kay, Herne and Arnold mounted: the dolphins at once leaped from the water, plunged in, and again leaped out, on the long rush towards home. Soon, they were speeding level with the chariot, going swifter and swifter, racing fish against fish, while the woman called to the team and sang to them:
‘Fin on, leap, skim the foam,
Swim the green toppling comb
Of blue seas rolling home
Under the west wind
From Yucatan to Ind.
Shear the sea-flowers to stubbles,
Crush the blue floor to bubbles,
Gallop, forget your troubles,
Skimming in gladness
The salt sea’s madness.
Come, flying fish, come, whales,
Come, mermaids with bright scales,
Come, gulls that ride on gales,
And albatrosses
That no gale tosses,
Speed with us as we thrust
The blue ways none can trust,
The green ways without dust,
The salt ways foaming;
Attend our homing.’
Instantly, as they sped, the mermaids shot to the surface beside them; many white, grey and gleaming birds swooped out of heaven to them; the whales surged out from below, snorting out glittering fountains. With little whickering flickers the flying fish leaped beside them like tiny silver arrows. The first moment or two, on setting forth, had been terrifying, but now, in all this glitter and leap and speed, with the lady singing, the dolphins ever going faster, the mermaids splashing water at him, and himself splashing water back at the mermaids, Kay loved it more than anything that had ever happened to him. It was exquisite to feel the dolphins quivering to the leap, and to surge upwards into the bright light with flying fish sparkling on each side; then to surge down into the water, scattering the spray like bright fire, full of rainbows, then to leap on and on, wave after wave, mile after mile. In the thrill and delight of this leaping journey Kay fell asleep. He was presently aware of Arnold getting off his dolphin at Tibbs Wharf near the Lock and Key. He half opened his eyes, thought he heard the church bells chime, and then woke up drowsily in his seat at Seekings, under the valance of the dressing-table, where the Box lay on the floor. He went down to lunch. It was lunch-time and the others were there.
‘Well, Kay,’ Jemima said, after a while, ‘you have seemed to us half-asleep ever since lunch began. Aren’t you going to say something?’
‘Say something?’ Kay said. ‘Where is Arnold?’
‘Arnold?’ they said. ‘Who’s Arnold?’
‘It’s very odd,’ Kay said, and he went to the window in order that he might pull himself together. It was very strange, but there at the top of the garden was a strange figure of fun, dressed seemingly in old leather, bits of sail and palm leaf, staring with admiration at the church tower.
‘That’s a tramp,’ Maria said.
‘Well, as it’s Christmas Eve, I must take him some food,’ Kay said.
So he cut some meat, some bread and a chunk of cheese, and pocketed two mincepies, and went out to refresh poor Arnold of Todi; but when he reached the top of the garden Arnold had slipped through the wicket gate and was gone. Kay looked along the lane and elsewhere for him, but Arnold was gone.
Chapter XI
When he returned to the house, Maria had a little special edition of the Tatchester paper.
YET ANOTHER CLERICAL OUTRAGE!
‘Kay,’ she said, ‘you’re losing all the fun. They’ve tried to scrobble another clergyman who was walking into Tatchester from Tineton.’
‘Did they get him?’ Kay asked.
‘No, they didn’t get him,’ Maria said. ‘Here is the account. I’ll read it.
“CHURCH BANDITS FOILED
“It now seems undoubted that the recent outrages at Tatchester are the work of an organised gang, sworn probably by some subversive maniac to prevent the millennial celebrations. We are happy to state that on this occasion the scoundrels were defeated. The Reverend Josiah Stalwart, Rector of Tineton, had undertaken, in answer to the Archbishop’s plea, to be prepared in case of need to help with the services in the Cathedral tonight. While proceeding to Tatchester along the Roman Road he was passed by a dark motor car in which were two men. The car stopped, the two men got out and coming towards him asked if he would like a lift. He noticed that one of the men had a white splash upon his leggings and held his right hand behind his back. Not quite liking their looks, and being naturally on his guard in view of recent events in Tatchester, he declined the lift and at once the taller man attempted to fling over his head what seemed like a felt bag, while the accomplice tried to deal him a short arm punch in the ribs. The Reverend Stalwart avoided the felt bag and smote his shorter assailant on the head with the holly cudgel which had been
lately presented to him by his admiring colleagues of the Tineton Hockey Team, which he has so often led to victory. Being an exceedingly athletic gentleman as well as a very good heavyweight boxer, Mr Stalwart proceeded to deal with the bagman. The ruffians, realising too late the kind of man with whom they had to deal, exchanged rapid passwords, which the Reverend Stalwart thinks may be of assistance to the Police. The shorter man said, ‘Kool slop.’ The taller man said, ‘Mizzle.’ They succeeded in tripping the reverend gentleman by a throw unknown to him, darted into the car, the engine of which had been kept running, and were at once out of sight, going at great speed.
“Mr Stalwart proceeded at once to Tatchester Police Station and a full description of both bandits is being broadcast at half-hourly intervals from all stations. Mr Stalwart is convinced that both criminals will bear marks of their meeting with him for some weeks.
“We would point out that the mystic words uttered by the reprobates are common thieves slang: ‘Kool slop’ is what is called back slang: the words Look, Police turned backwards. It is a familiar warning in the underworld. The other word, ‘Mizzle’, of doubtful derivation, means escape, fly or hurry away.
“It is hardly credible that armed bandits should thus beset a public highway in broad daylight to kidnap members of a holy calling. We are delighted that, in this case, a little resolution and British pluck have defeated their purpose. Needless to say, the precautions of the Police have been trebled on every road leading to Tatchester. In future no clergyman will proceed to Tatchester to take Christmas duty save under Police protection.
“We understand that the Tineton Hockey Club has sent a long telegram of congratulation to their victorious captain.”’
‘You see,’ Maria said, ‘they’ve been diddled this time. The Reverend Josiah must be a bit of a boy to take on two.’
‘I say, they will be furious,’ Kay said.
‘I don’t know,’ Maria said. ‘You see here, the Stop Press News. They’ve got the two Rectors and Curates from the Parish Churches in Tatchester: the Reverend Arthur Pure, the Reverend William Godley, Thomas Holyport and Charles Lectern: all disappeared, no one knows how. “Consternation and anguish in Rectory and Curacy alike.”’
The Box of Delights Page 20